


Vengence

by as_with_a_sunbeam



Series: The New World [2]
Category: 19th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, Dark, F/M, Gen, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 12:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21016013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/as_with_a_sunbeam/pseuds/as_with_a_sunbeam
Summary: In the wake of Jefferson's demise, Burr finds himself president of a crumbling government. The dead walk the earth again, and they've orchestrated a devastating attack on the capital. Worse yet, one of the creatures seems to have taken a particular interest in him.__Continuation of "The New World" from Burr's point of view.





	Vengence

Turning into the field had been a grave mistake, Burr realized, as he desperately pushed aside mostly dead corn stalks groaning with the weight of their rotten interiors. The field was heavily overgrown; whatever farmer had planted it hadn’t been around come harvest time to reap the fruits of his efforts. The full moon that had provided adequate light on the road did nothing to aid him in this maze of plant life. He was surrounded only by shades of black, such that he could hardly see his hand in front of him.

His heart pounded so hard that he could barely hear anything over the thumping in his ears. Sweat dripped into his eyes and down the back of his shirt. The sound of his breathing felt so loud he might as well have been screaming.

Something rustled nearby.

He froze dead in his tracks. His ankle throbbed where one of the creatures had grabbed hold of him. It might have been bleeding. Possibly sprained. He hadn’t had time to examine it in his flight from the Capitol. He didn’t dare move to inspect it now.

More rustling.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled. His instincts screamed at him to be still, to hide. Something was hunting him. He held his breath, waiting.

It seemed to be moving away.

Jefferson had been torn limb from limb in the president’s mansion, or so an aide had reported to him just before being dragged out an unsecured window by an army of rotting arms. He supposed that made him the president—for all the good that did. The world had gone completely to hell, and there was hardly a government left for him to head.

At least, hardly a government of the living. He was sure he’d seen Benjamin Franklin lurching near the Capitol while he’d been fleeing for his life. He would have sworn he saw Washington mounted on a horse near the president’s mansion, as well. And Hamilton…well, at least he likely wasn’t aiding the revolt of the dead any longer.

He wondered if the dead retained the memories of their lives. That would have explained Hamilton’s unrelenting attack on him. Rotting and seemingly mindless though he’d been, Hamilton had set his filmy eyes on Burr as soon as the dead had managed to ram through the reinforced door. Nothing short of a torch to Hamilton’s musty uniform had put him off.

The yelp of pain from Hamilton’s corpse as his uniform ignited in spectacular flames had been instructive. The fire had hurt him. If the creatures could be hurt, they could be killed, he reasoned. All he needed to do was keep his wits about him.

The rustling had stopped.

Burr started moving again, more slowly, deliberate. The creature that had followed him seemed to have gotten lost in the maze and wandered off. If he could come out the other side of the field, he could cut around the worst of the infestation. From there, he could start his journey south to Theo.

A round-about path through the corn stalks led him out onto a path towards what looked to be an abandoned farmhouse up ahead. Perhaps the farmer had left some food or supplies before he’d abandoned his home and crops for safer ground, Burr considered. Worth checking, at least. After glancing from side to side to be sure there were no creatures lurking nearby, he started down the path.

Something tackled him hard from behind.

The creature growled in his ear, feral, scratching and tearing at every available patch of skin. Teeth sank into his neck, hard enough to break skin. He sent an elbow back, landing a blow, and scrambled to his feet without looking behind him. He barely made it a few yards before the creature attacked again.

He rolled onto his back when he hit the ground this time, trying to pin the creature underneath him. But it wriggled out from under him and managed to pin him instead. Long, dark hair was loose in the creature’s face, but with a jolt, he realized he recognized it, or at least, recognized who the creature had once been.

“Eliza?”

She let loose a cry he could only describe as the howl of a banshee: it was mournful, ear piercing, and petrifying. Her hands wrapped around his neck, and she squeezed. He gasped.

“Please,” he begged, the word hardly audible, robbed of air as he was.

She squeezed harder.

**

When Burr came to, he had the distinct feeling that he hadn’t been out for very long. A glance out the window confirmed the same overgrown cornfield stood outside. Eliza must have dragged him into the abandoned farmhouse while he’d been unconscious.

He tried to move, only to find his arms tied roughly behind his back. Another rope secured his legs to the rickety wooden chair on which he sat. Why had she tied him up, he wondered, his heart pounding loudly in his ears once again. Why not just tear him apart, as the creatures had done to all the living that they’d laid hands on so far?

Maybe this was their way of setting food aside, he thought, then shuddered.

A small fire had been laid in the fireplace, throwing strange shadows across the mostly empty room. His eyes adjusted slowly, and he blinked hard a few times to try to clear his vision. A grungy looking mattress was on the ground near the hearth, a messy pile of blankets atop it covering the lower half of a body.

Hamilton.

His chest was bare, blisters and charred flesh visible on his chest even in the dim firelight. Squinting, he could also see the hole his bullet had cut through Hamilton’s right hip month’s earlier. Hamilton laid eerily still. Had Burr successfully killed him, he wondered. Again? He only just managed to swallow the hysterical laugh that built in his chest at the absurdity of this whole situation.

A thin, broken scream carried in from outside. Burr’s head snapped towards the door as it opened, hinges squealing. Eliza appeared, dragging in a half dead Congressional aide by the ankle. She deposited him on the floor near Burr before going back to close the door.

“Help me,” the aide begged, blood bubbling over his lips. His wide, frightened eyes locked on Burr. “Please. Help me.”

“I’m sorry,” Burr muttered.

Eliza seized the aide by the arm and placed her foot on his chest. Then she began to wrench the aide’s arm, tugging and pulling with inhuman strength. The aide screamed again, the same thin, hollow sound he’d been making outside. His arm tore free of his body with a sickening crack of bones and muscle. Only then did Eliza stomp her heel into the aide’s temple, stopping his breath at last.

Burr stared at her, horrified by the sheer brutality. The heavy metallic scent of blood saturated the room. He fought to keep from vomiting.

The bloody arm left a trail of gore along the wooden floorboards behind Eliza as she made her way towards the far end of the room and the mattress bearing Hamilton’s inert body. She squatted down by the mattress, leaned close to the body atop it, and sniffed. Then she rubbed her cheek against Hamilton’s, the gesture unmistakably affectionate.

Hamilton stirred for the first time. Milky eyes opened, and a low whine issued from his rotting throat. Eliza pushed the fresh limb towards him, grunting encouragingly. Hamilton took the arm obediently, sinking his teeth into the flesh and sending a spray of blood out across the blankets and Eliza’s once white dress.

Eliza pet him while he ate, tender and loving, a startling juxtaposition to the brutality of minutes earlier. When Hamilton had torn all the flesh and muscle away from the arm, Eliza tossed the bones aside carelessly and curled up on the mattress beside her husband. They were both utterly still again, indistinguishable from the dead body at Burr’s side.

Burr didn’t quite understand the rules of this new world they now shared with the dead: who rose from their graves, who remained a hollow husk, or what memories the dead carried with them. Eliza certainly seemed to understand that her husband was special to her despite the monstrous form they both shared. Did all the dead remember their loved ones?

Had Theodosia risen from her grave in New York, he wondered suddenly, a lump forming at the back of his throat. Had she attempted to find him at their old residence? Was she looking for him even now? A part of him longed for her to find him, however foolhardy the thought might be.

He wondered if that was what had happened to Eliza. Had she sought Hamilton out? Had she met her fate at her husband’s hands?

He watched the pair on the floor warily for a long time, on alert for even the barest hint of movement. Eliza remained perfectly still, not even breath moving her chest. Hamilton shifted uncomfortably a time or two, but otherwise moved no more than his wife.

The moon rose and fell in the sky, and eventually the fire burned out in the grate. Time seemed to move strangely. Burr must have nodded off at some point, exhaustion winning out over his fear. When his eyes opened next, the sun was rising over the sickly cornfield outside.

And the mattress was empty.

His head spun as he whipped around the best he could in his chair, trying to locate the couple. The farmhouse was empty, even the dead aide now missing. Where had they gone?

He had to get out before they came back, he decided. He shivered in the cool morning air, his ankle, throat, and head throbbing in time as he tried to formulate a plan. Twisting his fingers around, he began to work at the bonds on his wrists. With some effort, he worked his thumb into one of the knots, listening all the while for any hint of his captors’ return.

A shaky laugh of relief fell from his lips when the bonds came loose. Rushing to untie his legs, he nearly tripped as he stood, racing towards the door. The knob was slick with blood; he fumbled with it, his hands slippery as he twisted it from side to side. Finally, the door opened, and he ran out into the blinding daylight.

“Leaving us so soon?”

He froze. That voice, raspy and weak though it was, could only have belonged to one person. Turning slowly, he saw Hamilton leaning against the farmhouse, arms crossed over his chest, perfectly at ease. Eliza stood close at his side, her eyes narrowed as she watched Burr warily. Their blood splattered clothes and rotting features were even more jarring in daylight.

“You can speak?”

“Are you really surprised? It was, after all, my greatest talent in life.”

A hint of a smile started around Hamilton’s lips as he pushed away from the farmhouse. Burr fought to keep his feet in place. Everything in him want to run, to flee, but he knew they would catch him in an instant. But if they could speak, perhaps they could be reasoned with.

“What is it you want?” Burr asked.

Hamilton circled him slowly. He didn’t respond.

“You must want something. You’ve all gathered in the capital, you’ve taken over the president’s mansion, killed Jefferson. This isn’t random.”

“Of course not.” Hamilton was behind him now. He leaned in close to Burr’s ear, sniffing at his neck. 

Burr swallowed. “With Jefferson dead, I’m the president. I could help you. Get you recognition, representation. We could…negotiate.”

“I don’t need to negotiate. You’ve hardly a government left. Washington is installed in the president’s mansion, and Congress fell last night.” Hamilton’s head switched to his other side, sniffing again.

“I admit, you’re in a somewhat stronger starting position.”

Hamilton laughed softly, amused.

“We’ve always been able to negotiate,” Burr pressed.

“Almost always.” A veiled reference to their duel, Burr understood immediately.

“I am sorry about that.”

“Shooting me? Or setting me on fire?”

“Both?”

Hamilton laughed again. “You are fun, Burr. It’s almost a pity.”

“What—”

“Where do you want him, my angel?”

“How lightly you speak of the pain you caused, Mr. Burr,” Eliza hissed, approaching slowly. “In satisfying your petty pride, you stole everything from me. My life’s happiness gone in a moment. And here you stand, joking about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Quiet,” she growled. “I want you to know pain, Mr. Burr. Pain and fear. And while you are suffering, I want you to know that none of it can hold a candle to what you did to me. What you tried to do again, even last night.”

As she straightened her spine, expression cold and wrathful, sunlight streaming behind her, her white dress splattered with blood, she looked the very picture of an avenging angel.

And he knew death was coming for him.

“Take him back inside, Alexander.”

**Author's Note:**

> Trika88_art (who has posted some really fantastic fanart for my story "The New World" [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17566583)) requested another story in that universe. I figured what better time to write it then the spooky season of Halloween! This story is so different from my usual style, and I'm honestly not sure where the original idea for it even came from, but it is weirdly fun to write. Hope it lived up to the first one! 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Feedback is heartily appreciated!!


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